


You Don't Have to Put on the Red Light

by rory_the_faery



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, And Sherlock exploiting that, Dark John, Dark Sherlock, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Internalized Homophobia, John being uncomfortable in his sexuality, M/M, Manipulation, Moulin Rouge References, Multi, Oral Sex, Prostitution, dub con, just dark everything, rent boy!sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-12 01:26:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2090577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rory_the_faery/pseuds/rory_the_faery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John finds out Sherlock is prostituting himself to repay a debt.  Sherlock sees this as an opportunity for a new best client.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"...I do £50 an hour, £500 for the whole night.  Special requests are £20....Yes, _each_ , obviously..."

Sherlock turned and froze upon seeing John in the doorway, a puzzled expression on the doctor's face.

"I'll call you back," he said quickly, hanging up the phone.  Shit.  How long had John been standing there?

"I thought you were working tonight."

John looked at him, brow still furrowed, trying to figure out what to make of Sherlock's conversation on the phone.  "Sarah let me off early," he said. 

"Oh," was all Sherlock could think of to say.

"What was that about on the phone?" he asked.  "Client?"

"In a manner of speaking," Sherlock replied quietly.

John nodded, shrugging off his coat and hanging it up on the wall.  "Funny, it sort of sounded like you were..."

"Like I was what?" Sherlock asked, staring at John, though the army doctor seemed to be avoiding eye contact.

John bit his lip.  "You don't charge clients."

"I didn't say it was a client."

"You said -- "

"I said it was, in a manner of speaking.  Not one of our clients, just.. _a_ client."

"Whose client?"

"Mine."

"What are you charging them for?"

"I don't think that's any of your business."

"What would you do if I gave you fifty quid?"

"I would kindly decline your offer."

"No, I'm being serious, Sherlock. _What_ is this person paying you for?"

There was a long, heavy silence that hung over them for several moments as Sherlock calculated an appropriate answer.  John already had a pretty good idea of _what_ exactly, but he wanted to hear Sherlock say it.

"I owe someone a debt.  I am repaying that debt.  It's none of your concern."

John looked at him incredulously.  "You...you're a whore?"

Sherlock gritted his teeth slightly and John caught just the faintest roll of his eyes.

"I would prefer it if you used a less derogatory term.  But yes.  I am a.. _whore_."

John swallowed thickly.  "If...if you need money, I can -- I can give you money, or I'm sure your brother can help -- "

"I owe thousands of pounds worth of drug money.  You don't have that kind of money and I'm certain my brother is not willing to loan me that much either, especially not if the debt is because of my drug habit when I was younger," Sherlock said.  "The man to whom I am indebted happens to run the organization through which I am selling myself.  He has agreed to allow me to pay him back without interest by working for him.  It was the easiest and fastest way to repay the debt."

Logical as ever, Sherlock Holmes. John frowned deeply at this and Sherlock sighed.

"I have prior experience as a rent boy. It's really not that big of a deal."

John bit his lip.  "Right, sorry, it's just..hard to wrap my head around...you being a hooker."

"Rent boy, or sex worker would be preferable terminology."

"Sorry," John mumbled.  There was a long pause and John raked his hand through his hair.  

"Christ...here I was thinking you were a virgin."

"I've never had sex outside of a prostitution context."

"That's horrible."

"I don't particularly enjoy it.  I doubt I would in a 'normal' context, either.  I may as well make money at it."

There was a long pause.  John licked his lips uncomfortably, and for a while Sherlock wasn't sure what to say.

"Does it..bother you?"

John swallowed thickly.  "A bit, yeah."

"It was the most logical solution to -- "

"Doesn't mean I have to like it," John interrupted.

Sherlock scoffed a bit.  "Well, I don't need your approval. You weren't even supposed to know."

"I know. I know," John said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Sherlock sighed.  "Well unless you're planning on giving me fifty quid, I've got a client I need to talk to."  He grabbed his coat and scarf, about to put them on and go outside so he could speak with the client in private.

"I can," John said.  He'd rather give Sherlock money than have him selling himself like that, even if it was something he'd done before.  John didn't like him doing it.

Sherlock turned back to face him.  "Are you actually asking to employ my services or are you simply trying to prevent me from seeing my client?" he asked.  "Because I know the client will have at least three special requests, so if you don't actually want to have sex with me, I could be making more money elsewhere."

John swallowed once more, glancing down at the floor.  "Right. Sorry."

Sherlock bit his lip and decidedly backtracked.  If he played this right...  Sherlock internally shook his head, not wanting to get too far ahead of himself.  "If you do want to, I'm not objecting.  I'm merely asking that you not waste my time."

"Right, because that wouldn't be weird or anything."

"I've had sex with people I know before, John."

"Oh, well _that's_ bloody reassuring.  You don't get it. Doesn't matter.  Go talk to your client."

"No. What don't I get?"

"I don't want to talk about this."

"Well, I _do_ ," Sherlock countered sternly, making it clear he wasn't going to back down until John just told him.

John sighed and raked his hand through his hair, trying to think of the right words to say.

"I just...I wouldn't mind..the sex, with you...if you wanted it..."

"Well obviously I want it, otherwise I would've said no," Sherlock said in his usual _why-is-everyone-but-me-so-stupid_ voice.

John shook his head.  Sherlock still didn't get it.  "Yeah, but..not like that."

"You want me to have sex with you for free?" Sherlock asked, a bit incredulously.  "I thought you said you didn't mind paying the fifty quid.  I'm sort of in need of money, John, I think -- "

"No, no, I don't.  I don't mind, I just..."

Sherlock furrowed his brow slightly, his analytical eyes crossing over John, scanning, processing.

"Are you implying that you want some kind of relationship with me?" he asked, tilting his head a bit.

John bit down on his lip and decidedly ignored the question, turning and heading towards the kitchen.  He didn't notice Sherlock following close behind.  "Do you want -- " he started to call into the other room, but then turned to see Sherlock less than a foot away from him, eyes darker than usual, and it took John a moment to register that it was because his pupils were fully dilated.  John swallowed, forcing away the thought of how remarkably gorgeous Sherlock was.  "To have dinner..?"

"So to speak," Sherlock murmured, voice slightly lower than usual.  John felt heat rising in his groin, but he ignored it, trying to think of something repulsive to make it go away.

"No," John said, turning and going to get out some leftovers from the fridge.

"Clearly you want to," Sherlock said.  Of course he wouldn't have missed the way John's trousers seemed to have tightened around his groin area or the doctor's pupils dilating.  The detective pursed his lip slightly.  "I don't mind."

John scoffed slightly.  "Yeah, lovely.  You _don't mind_."

Sherlock's gaze narrowed as his eyes continued to shift over John, who was refusing to turn and face him.  "You just won't allow yourself to sleep with me because I'm a _whore_.  Is that it?  I am right, aren't I?"

John didn't answer, dishing out some pasta into a bowl and putting it in the microwave.  One minute and thirty seconds later, the beeping of the food being done broke the silence and John finally turned back to face Sherlock.

"Look. I do want to.  A lot... Too much.  Do you understand?" he admitted, finding the detective harder to resist when he was actually looking at him.

"No. I don't understand.  If you want to, then why don't you?" Sherlock asked, moving around the counter, closer to John.

John swallowed, able to feel his own pulse speeding up as he got closer to him.  When he finally regained his ability to speak, the tone was soft, sullen.  "I...couldn't have it just once."

Of course, Sherlock had already known that. That had been his whole purpose of pursuing John. Repeat clients were quite valuable, and the clever detective had known in John's case, once would never be enough.

"You wouldn't have to," Sherlock murmured, tone becoming softer to match John, though his is more of a gentle rumble of his baritone voice.  "You could have me..as many times as you like.."  He moved even closer.  This time no amount of repulsive thoughts could stop the blood rushing towards John's groin.

"You'll still see other people," John said softly.  "I can't...I'll be so fucking jealous."

"They're clients.  They mean nothing to me," Sherlock replied.

John looked at him.  He hadn't even realised until now that he'd been moving closer and Sherlock was only centimeters away from him now.

"And what about me?" John asked.

Sherlock's tongue gracefully and seductively swiped across his bottom lip.  "Let me show you."

And suddenly, somehow, their lips wound up pressed together and John's eyes were closed and his back was pressed against the refrigerator, and _oh!_ Sherlock's hands were touching him through his trousers, while his teeth were tugging at John's bottom lip.

Sherlock started moving down, kissing and sucking at John's neck as his hands made quick work of John's trousers and as he dropped down onto his knees in front of John, he tugged his trousers down around his lower thighs.  John's eyes fluttered closed and a soft moan escaped him as Sherlock started mouthing him through his pants.

" _Christ_...Sherlock.." John panted as Sherlock pulled his pants down with his trousers.  The detective looked up at John, making direct eye contact as he dragged his tongue up the underside of the shaft, up to the head which he wrapped his lips around.  This caused John to let out a number of incoherent noises the neighbours were sure to be able to hear, but he found he didn't have the capacity to give a damn at the moment.

Sherlock's hands were on John's hips and he moved closer until he'd taken him in entirely and John heard a slight choking noise as he slid into the man's throat, but Sherlock didn't complain.  John tried not to think of where Sherlock had acquired the ability to take a seven-inch cock all the way in his throat, so he focused instead on right now, the warm, wet mouth around his cock and tangled his fingers through Sherlock's hair.

He let out a loud gasp as Sherlock started to suck and pull back until John was only about halfway in his mouth.  His slender fingers reached up and worked the base in sync as he bobbed his head on John's cock.

" _OhmygodSherlock...Jesus I'm gonna...I'm gonna come..._ "

The words spewed out between broken gasps and within moments John's head went back and his eyes closed as he came in Sherlock's mouth.  After a few moments, John regained himself and saw Sherlock, licking up the last of his cum that hadn't quite made it into his mouth and then getting to his feet.  Before John could ask about whether Sherlock wanted him to return the favour or get him off, Sherlock pressed a chaste kiss just beside John's lips.  "Have to go see a client," he murmured.  "I'll be back in an hour or so."

John frowned slightly but nodded.  "Just...be safe."

Sherlock nodded.  "Of course, John."

He turned and went back into the living room, grabbing his coat and scarf before heading out the door.

When Sherlock came back later that night, John was asleep upstairs and there was £50 on the kitchen counter.  Sherlock smiled and picked up the cash before heading to the bathroom to wash up.  John Watson was about to become his best client.


	2. A Kiss May Be Grand (But It Won't Pay the Rent)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next time John hired Sherlock was six days after the first incident. Despite John having resolved that he really couldn't do that again, Sherlock had been right. John would be a repeat client.
> 
> Meanwhile, John may be starting to catch on, but is choosing to ignore the uneasy feeling in his gut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand the hiatus is over! So so so sorry that took so long, I've been busy as hell with AP classes and homework and just general shit going on so I'm glad I finally finished this. As for the next chapter, I'm really not sure when it'll be up. Could be tomorrow (unlikely, but it COULD be), or it could be Christmas. (I'm shooting for before Haloween, but who knows, and that probably won't work out).

"Sherlock.." John said one evening when he'd gotten home from a particularly stressful day of work. Sherlock looked at him and it was obvious what he wanted.

"Yes," Sherlock answered pre-emptively.

John bit his lip. "Um..would...now..be okay?" he asked, awkwardly pausing between each word.

Sherlock pressed a light light kiss onto John's cheek and one on his ear, so lightly John hardly felt them.

"I'm just leaving to see a client. I should be back in an hour and I'll be all yours for the rest of the night," he purred softly. "Why don't you have a drink to relax a bit and decide how you'd like to have me.." he murmured.

John swallowed thickly at Sherlock's proximity and the soft rumble of his baritone voice. He didn't answer, but Sherlock took that as a yes, and then, pulling his coat on, left to go see his client.

~·~

This wasn't the first time Sherlock had been involved in this line of work. The last had been several years ago. He'd been nineteen, but with his scrawny frame and childlike face built around doey, blue-green eyes and sharp cheekbones, he could've easily passed for as young as fifteen or sixteen.

As one could imagine with Sherlock Holmes' history, the reason for the necessity of this was obvious: drugs. And for the barely eighteen-year-old, Oxford-drop-out who'd been all but disowned from Mycroft and his parents after a screaming match about him dropping out of university (Oxford, no less) for drugs, well, money was certainly an issue. And therein lied the problem that he had no way to fund his addiction.

His dealer had given him drugs for no charge, to Sherlock's surprise and appreciation, for over a year. Though, of course, he later found out that it wasn't, in fact, free, and perhaps if he hadn't been high 24/7, he might've realised this before he managed to indebt himself so much.

But his dealer suddenly cut him off one day. By then, Sherlock was so dependent on the drug that he'd begged for it, making the mistake of saying he'd do anything. _Anything at all._

_"Get on your knees then."_

_Sherlock looked up at him, for a brief moment not understanding. But then he did, and, knowing he didn't have another choice if he wanted his heroin, the teen willingly dropped to his knees._

~·~

Sherlock was exhausted by the time he got back to Baker Street. Female client. He'd had to do most of the heavy lifting, so to speak, and had to do so for nearly two hours, which could be very tiring. As he stood outside the door to the flat, though, he took a moment to regain himself, and at least not _look_ so tired. John wouldn't hire him if he thought Sherlock needed to rest, which he did not.

Deciding he'd taken the few moments he needed to recharge enough, Sherlock stepped into the flat, and walked up the stairs to find John sitting in his armchair, obviously having done nothing but wait since Sherlock had left. The kitchen had been cleaned, but not to a Mrs Hudson level of proficiency so obviously John had cleaned while he was waiting for the detective to return home.

"Sorry that took so long," Sherlock murmured, slipping back into his role easily enough as he came to perch on John's lap and look at him with a calculated expression of softness and lust. "Female client. They tend not to be so hasty about it as the men are."

John nodded slightly, staring at Sherlock like he was a diety. His curly hair was still slightly ruffled and mussed up, and the way he looked at John was entrancing.

"So," Sherlock started, but immediately was cut off by John cupping his cheeks and pulling him towards him for a deep kiss. Sherlock was a bit taken aback by this, but didn't let that stop him from returning the kiss with equal fervour.

Sherlock pulled away from the kiss and smiled faintly down at his newest client. He knew emotions would be key to keeping John coming back for more each time, but fortunately, he could play the game (and win every time).

"So," he purred again softly in John's ear. "Have you decided yet? How you want to have me?"

John swallowed thickly, Sherlock's voice a soft, but deep rumble in his ear. "B..bedroom," he stammered, his trousers seeming to get a bit tighter when he felt Sherlock's hand roaming along his thigh.

"Yours or mine?" Sherlock asked, absently rubbing his thumb in small circles on the inside of John's thigh. Though of course, it only seemed absent; everything he did was quite deliberate.

John took a moment to process that, his mind distracted by Sherlock's actions. "..Mine."

Sherlock nodded, getting off John's lap and up to his feet, and John followed. "Do you have condoms and lubricant?" he asked. "If not, I have some."

"No, I..I've got some," John said, and Sherlock nodded, starring to walk just slightly ahead of him up to the bedroom, John following, never far behind.

When they got to the bedroom, Sherlock turned back around to John as the doctor closed the door behind them. He looked at him expectantly, and when John didn't say anything, Sherlock prompted him. "Would you like me to undress?"

"Um..yes, sorry..I haven't -- "

"I know," Sherlock said with a faint smile as he started to unbutton his shirt, just now realising that he'd buttoned it crookedly when he'd been leaving his last client's flat. John watched, eyes roaming over the contours of Sherlock's chest and torso, and soon the shirt was on the floor, as we're his socks and trousers. The detective glanced back up at John as his fingers toyed with the hem of his pants.

John stared for a moment before stammering slightly. "I -- do you...should I get undressed too?"

Sherlock smiled softly. "If you'd like," he murmured. "You're paying me. You get to decide how things happen."

"I don't want..."

"I know you don't," Sherlock said, cutting him off and taking a step towards him, so they were barely a few centimetres apart. "But honestly, I've had sex in every way possible, and I don't particularly care how we do this. Anything you want is fine with me, okay?" he purred soothingly and affectionately. John needed to be reassured that he wasn't just another client to Sherlock. If he thought he was, he'd stop, and Sherlock couldn't have that.

Sherlock felt John's hand brush over his hips, the only part of him still covered, as the rest of his alabaster skin was revealed, and John marvelled at him like he was some creature of the heavens. Just then, Sherlock stepped back, sitting down on the bed, and leaning back slightly, a calculated measure of provocativity to his position. Everything he did had a tinge of femininity to it, and there was a reason behind that as well.

John, quite clearly, was bisexual. It was painfully obvious (well, to Sherlock anyway). But he clearly still had some personal issues he was working out with that. Not that John was homophobic, simply that he seemed capable of accepting others as queer ("it's all fine" as he'd famously said to Sherlock), but not himself. The more feminine Sherlock acted, he noticed the more comfortable John got with him. Little touches that would've made John jump before, were now acceptable when Sherlock was gentler, and his body language much more distinctively female. Being a prostitute, Sherlock had delt with many other men like John, and so he had this down practically to a science.

He looked up at the army doctor and smirked faintly at how nervous John looked. "Well go on then," he said, glancing with mock disapproval over John's still-clothed body. Without a moment's hesitation, though, John started to undress, pulling his jumper over his head and soon he was completely naked, clothes in a pile on the floor with Sherlock's. The detective licked his lips as his eyes roamed over John's army-toned body, gaze lingering on his semi-hard cock, and without so much as a bat of his eyelashes, he felt John crawling on top of him, and Sherlock pressed back against him with equal enthusiasm.

John's pulse was racing as he shoved Sherlock back onto the bed and a noise like a soft growl escaped him. Sherlock arched his back slightly, wanting for more friction between the two of them. John cupped Sherlock's cheek, smashing their lips together and his hand moved along Sherlock's cheek to the back of his head to tug at the detective's dark curls. Sherlock let out a gasp against John's lips and felt his own cock hardening as John continued grinding their hips together.

John released his grip on Sherlock's hair to slide his hands down his shoulders, along the sides of his abdomen where he could feel the contours of the thin man's ribcage and the smooth curvature of his hips. He shifted to press light kisses along Sherlock's neck and his collarbones, vaguely displeased to find marks where others, clients of Sherlock's had done the same, and felt compelled to leave marks of his own. And for the first, but not the last time, John found himself trying to compete with Sherlock's clients.

But the thought was shaken from his head for the time being as he heard Sherlock let out a moan underneath him. "John...John please," he panted. His hips were pressing relentlessly against John's, who was beginning to dislike the cotton of Sherlock's pants. As he moved off of the detective, he tugged them off so now Sherlock and John both were naked.

Spitting on his hand, John took Sherlock's prick in his hand and started to stroke it, watching as Sherlock squirmed and moaned on the bed. He wasn't stupid; he knew Sherlock was putting on a show and that at best, a good portion of his response was faked, at worst, all of it was. But once again, he pushed the thought from his mind and pretended it wasn't. Pretended Sherlock really wanted him like this. He'd never seen the appeal of prostitutes before; for John, sex had always needed to be about some kind of emotional connection, even his more casual hookups, and he didn't see the sense in paying someone to pretend to love him. Oh, the irony, he thought, as he leaned back over Sherlock to press another kiss onto his lips, gentler this time.

"Fuck me," Sherlock murmured, still breathless.

If Sherlock was faking it, John decided, he was doing a damn good job.


	3. If You Want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so so sooooooo sorry this took so long. This fic has elements of dub-con/some sexual violence which I tried not to describe in too much detail while still not drawing away from the awfulness of it, but if you are a victim of sexual violence and think this might trigger you, I'd hate to have my fic be the cause of any panic or distress to you, so if that's the case, you may want to skip out on the second portion of this chapter where it goes into flashback.

"If you want."

That was all he ever said.

If you want.

John thought he was going to lose his mind.

_If you want._

So very un-Sherlock, and yet he said it _constantly_. Any time John asked for something. Every time the had sex. Always what John wanted, but when John wanted Sherlock to tell him what he'd enjoy, he refused. John wanted to scream.

"This relationship isn't supposed to be a one-sided thing Sherlock. Not everything needs to be about what I want."

Sherlock didn't respond, just sighed with mild irritation as though John was being ridiculous for not simply ordering Sherlock around like all he thought of him was a call boy, and nothing more.

John wondered if Sherlock had ever been in a real relationship. He wondered if Sherlock knew how fucked this was, and this was not what a real, healthy relationship was supposed to be like.

He still slept with other people, still needed the money, and John hated that. _Just ask Mycroft. Surely he can lend you the money._ That was the only thing Sherlock would never say 'if you want' to. Whenever John suggested it, Sherlock looked at him like he was suggesting the most degrading, insulting thing possible. Like asking his brother for help was worse than fucking strangers for cash.

Not just strangers though. John was still paying for every time he and Sherlock found themselves in each other's arms or in their beds. He paid a little extra, still, in the hopes that it might keep Sherlock from seeing another client. That John's money could sustain him alone.

Of course it never did.

Several minutes of silence passed, and John hadn't seemed to want to do anything with Sherlock, the detective huffed in boredom and stood to go into the kitchen, leaving John alone on the sofa with his thoughts. Sherlock was never interested in John except when he wanted to fuck.

Was John just another client to Sherlock?

The thought hadn't occurred to him before. He'd assumed from the start that Sherlock cared about him as much as he cared about Sherlock. Loved him, even. John certainly did. But how could he even ask that? How could he ask Sherlock something like that, the implications so treasonous that simply suggesting it may be true felt like tyranny itself.

No, he couldn't ask. He could never ask. Sherlock wouldn't do that to him, right?

He wasn't that much of a cold, emotionless machine, was he?

Every second he thought about it, John began to doubt himself more and more, so he tried to push the thought from his head, but he couldn't. He needed reassurance. So, he did the only thing he knew to do to get some kind of response from Sherlock and went into the kitchen after him, grabbing him very suddenly by the shirt and pulling him closer for a kiss.

\--

_Sherlock's dealer hadn't wanted him exclusively for himself. Oh, no no no, that would've been a waste. Instead, he drove him around to see other people -- clients, he called them. They shagged him, gave his dealer money for it, and Sherlock was paid by his dealer in drugs._

_Sherlock had thought he could do this. He thought he could manage having sex with strangers, as long as it meant him getting his drugs. He hated it, though. Every second of it._

_One of his clients had wanted to tie him up when they had sex. He'd been willing to pay extra for it, but Sherlock wouldn't. When the man tried to grab him to tie his hands anyway, the teen started screaming and kicking. "NO NO, _STOP_ , STOP IT!"_

_His dealer had been outside and heard the screaming, though not concerned by it until the man Sherlock was supposed to be fucking came outside of the motel room, huffing in frustration and demanding his money back. Sherlock had his face buried in the pillow, trying not to cry, as the man had managed to hurt him still, while he was struggling, and he was scared. Oh God, what had he gotten himself into? Mycroft had been right; he couldn't take care of himself. He wasn't an adult, despite his age._

_Sherlock's dealer had insisted to the man not to worry, and that he would fix the problem. "He's a bit new at this. I'm terribly sorry." As he came into the room, closing the door behind him, Sherlock didn't look up, too terrified._

_His dealer grabbed him, though, pulling him up and forcing Sherlock to look at him, only to smack him hard across the face. Sherlock whimpered._

_"Listen to me, you little bitch," he snapped. "This is a job. You don't_ get _to say no. You do whatever the fuck he, or any other client, wants you to do, or I'm cutting you off, understand?" He knew Sherlock was hooked enough by now that if he cut him off like that, he'd go into withdrawal. And that was the only thing that scared Sherlock more than the man outside the room. Sherlock didn't respond immediately, so his dealer jerked him upright again by his hair. "If he wants it, you do it. End of discussion. Got it?" Sherlock nodded his head as much as he could with his dealer's hand still grasping his hair, and he finally let go, stepping back outside for the man to come back in._

_"Now," said the man. "May I tie you up?"_

_Sherlock swallowed thickly and nodded. "If you want."_


	4. Roxanne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's jealousy is beginning to get the better of him. Does Sherlock really love him?
> 
> "When love is for the highest bidder, there can be no trust. Without trust, there is no love."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was listening to the Moulin Rouge version of El Tango de Roxanne when I wrote this, so that kind of happened.
> 
> Also, sorry I haven't updated in like ten thousand years. I would say I've been busy but it's actually been like ten thousand years. So this is a lot of porn and angst as an apology

Sherlock came home earlier that night. Around sevenish. Still, he looked a bit more tired than usual. He wore his scarf tightly around his neck.

Despite this, when he saw John watching crap telly from the sofa and clearly waiting on him, Sherlock looked interested. "Coming to bed?" he asked suggestively.

John looked up at Sherlock. The disheveled mess of curls, the slightly glossed-over expression of a post-orgasmic daze. The way his legs had a slight wobble to them, weak in the knees. Something crept on John, slow and then all at once.

Jealousy.

Sherlock noticed. Coming over to sit on the sofa, not beside John, but in his lap. John looked up at him.

_His eyes upon your face._

He could smell the other man's cologne on Sherlock. Neither of them spoke, but Sherlock let John cup his cheek in his hand. He looked down at Sherlock's wrists where there were marks that could only have been the result of handcuffs.

_His hand upon your hand._

He pulled off Sherlock's scarf, which Sherlock didn't protest against, and found his alabaster neck covered in violet marks.

_His lips caress your skin._  
_It's more than I can stand._

Something overtook John, possessive and feral, and he grabbed Sherlock by the waist, pulling him closer, needing to cover those marks with his own, needing to let the world know Sherlock was his. Needing to reassure himself of that too. Sherlock gasped softly, tilting his head back as John sucked at his skin.

John's arms pulled Sherlock as close as he could, closing the gap between them. Sherlock reached for the buttons on his shirt to undress, but John pushed his hands aside and practically tore his shirt off. It was a cheap shirt he only wore when he was going to sleep with other men anyway. John wanted it gone. He kissed across Sherlock's collarbones, down his chest, and then suddenly scooped Sherlock up in his arms to carry him up to John's bedroom. Always John's bedroom. Sherlock brought clients to his own room sometimes, and John wanted nothing to do with the space.

Once he got up to his room, the doctor shut the door behind them and dropped Sherlock down on the bed. He pulled off the man's trousers and pants in one swift motion and then undressed himself in equal haste. Sherlock was looking up at him with that glossy, lust-filled look in his eyes and John couldn't tell if it was real or forced. It didn't matter. Sherlock was moving to grab the lubricant off the nightstand, but John grabbed him and pulled him back to the edge of the bed, turning him over onto his stomach, and grabbed the lubricant himself.

John slicked up his fingers, and easily slid one in. It didn't take long for him to stretch Sherlock -- he had just been with a client. John made a noise like a soft growl.

_Jealousy will drive you mad._

John thrust himself into Sherlock, and the latter couldn't help but whimper, though he pushed his hips back against John. The doctor pulled out, and thrust back in again. Sherlock let out a gasp, tilting his head back. John grasped Sherlock by those beautiful dark curls of his, and tugged slightly, making more profane noises escape the whore's lips.

Not a whore. John wouldn't think about that now. Sherlock was his. All his.

He thrust again. Again. Settled into a rhythm, Sherlock's gasps and moans punctuating each thrust John made into him. John looked down at Sherlock. Marks on his hips where the other man had grabbed him. John leaned down, kissing and sucking at his neck.

-

Sherlock rocked his hips back against John. John was jealous. But surprisingly, his jealousy wasn't driving him away from Sherlock, but making him want Sherlock even more.

John needed this. Needed reassurance that Sherlock wanted him. Sherlock was more than happy to comply. "John...John..." he panted as John nipped and sucked at the skin on his neck and shoulders. He could feel John's thrusts speeding up.

-

"Fuck, Sherlock...I love you...I love you..."

_Please say you love me too._

God, John was close. Sherlock seemed close too, groaning and rutting against the mattress. John reached around Sherlock's waist and wrapped his fingers around his cock, thrusts growing more hurried as John was about to reach his climax.

Within a few strokes, Sherlock came with a loud, gasping moan, and John followed immediately after. "I love you...fuck...God, Sherlock..." _Please. Please say you love me too._

John pulled out.

He waited.

Sherlock murmured his name.

He didn't say anything else.


End file.
